Don't Dream It
by narqueen
Summary: An ongoing collection of InuYasha drabbles and shorts I've posted on tumblr, both on my regular blog and YSWS. Lots of different pairings, mostly involving Naraku (NarKik, NarKag, NarSan). Rated M to be safe.
1. NarSan - Staccato

**Title:** Staccato

 **Warnings:** sexual situations

 **Pairing:** NarSan

 **a/n:** Dedicated entirely to lady-griddlebone for sailing with me on this ship of nightmares. Was considering writing this with shades of Dany/Drogo, but I couldn't resist writing angst-sex. Maybe another day.

* * *

He says _there there_ when she cries for her brother, the dying-dead boy, and whispers _I can make it all better_ ; he says _hush hush don't cry_ as he moves inside her, winding his arms under her thin shoulders, and her legs shake around him.

 _Please,_ she sobs, though she does not specify what she is asking for. So he answers in the only way he knows how: by continuing to do as he pleases. She moans in response, never indicating if he has guessed correctly.

Her cheeks are wet and sticky like the space between her thighs, and he relishes in everything she releases, be it blood, sweat, tears, come, or strangled whispers through saliva-stained teeth. The floor is cold and unforgiving, and the old stone dungeons echo each and every one of her breathless pants, so that they both hear her voice a thousand times over:

 _Why why why why me why me why me do you do you love love love me me -_

Somewhere towards the end, he opens his mouth against hers and murmurs something like _yes, no, maybe so -_

But his fingers slip between them, slim and stealthy and spidery, choking a scream of sinful rapture from her trembling lips, so that his words shall never repeat themselves against the walls of the prison that surrounds them, or the one that surrounds his heart.


	2. NarKag - immortality, as told in times

**Title:** immortality, as told in times

 **Warnings:** implied sexual situations

 **Pairing:** NarKag

 **Prompt:** the things you said at 1:00 a.m.

 **a/n:** Requested by anon. I know it's an unspoken sin to write fanfic in first person, but I really felt this one in second-and-first person POV. I formatted it a bit differently than my usual writing style as well. Also, this fic is heavily inspired by all of Halsey's music. I haven't been feeling too great lately; but this has been sitting in my notes forever. Seeing as NarKag is my only happy ship, I decided to finish it. which ended up making me feel a bit better. Since it was requested by anon: for **inukikfanfluff** , whom I adore. Sending all my love your way. Also for **princessango** ( **moonpiece** on FF), my BabeBerry; can't wait to sin some more with you.

* * *

 **You told me this is right where it begins.**

 **But your lips hang heavy underneath me;**

 **And I promised myself I wouldn't let you complete me.**

 **I'm trying not to let it show, that I don't want to let this go,**

 **Is there somewhere you can meet me?**

\- _'Is There Somewhere', Halsey_

* * *

 **\- 3:34 p.m. -**

 _Hey, let's go._

 _What?_

 _Let's go. Let's just go. I feel like driving. I just want to move._

 _All right. Let's go._

You pick up the house key between your long white fingers, twirling the shiny, jagged edge of the key up and down, up and down. I watch you squeeze the metal between them, rubbing your skin along each and every pointed ridge, as if you were still fascinated by modern marvels, even after three years living with me in the now. Sometimes I think you'll always be in awe of things like house keys and cars, of things like time and me; I know I'll always be in awe of you.

Looping my arm around yours, I grab the fingerprint-stained set of keys to my truck. You still can't drive. Sometimes you complain about it, but I don't think you really mind.

 **\- 5:29 p.m. -**

 _Where are we going?_

You look over at me; I know because I can feel the rubies of your gaze dig into my skin. Not malicious - only inquisitive. Impatient, maybe.

 _I don't know._

 _Aren't you hungry?_

 _Are you?_

 _Unfortunately._

Despite myself, I giggle - in the back then, I'd never seen you eat. Ever since we'd come to _the now_ \- once you were no longer full of rage and demons and the sorrow of another's heart - you began to need things.

Food.

Sleep.

Affection.

You'll never admit to the last one, but that's okay. I saw it before you did, anyhow. It's why my mom named me _Kagome, Kagome_. After all, I've always seen things; monsters behind a time-traveling well, the shine of sacred shards, _the jewel didn't grant your real wish, did it?_

Out of the corner of my eye, I see you scowl, and you are beautiful.

 _What is so amusing?_

 _Nothing._

But I'm laughing all the way through the fast-food drive through.

 **\- 6:01 p.m. -**

Apparently, you're allergic to melon.

 _Remind me never to trust you, ever again._

Clearly, you're at a loss, because you glare darkly at the patch of red blotches on the inside of your wrist like you can scare the hives away. Ironically, for a man who used to suck substances in his body on a regular basis and run around with a poisonous beehive at his fingertips, your immune system seemed to be awfully thrown by a fruit salad.

We've pulled over at a rest stop; the spring-time sunset streaks the sky with pink and gold. You tug uncomfortably at the collar of your T-shirt while I tie my hair up. The space between your collarbones is going discolored as well; you reach up to scratch it, and I smack your hand away.

 _You'll only irritate it more!_

 _Woman, I -_

 _Be quiet and let me help!_

(Luckily for you, Sota's really allergic to grass and pollen, so I keep Benadryl in the car.)

 **\- 8:55 p.m. -**

The Benadryl has knocked you out for a couple of hours; honestly, it's kind of cute to see you hunched in the car seat, still so tall, arms folded, raven waves tumbling over your shoulders. It's just so human - you, here, with me, in _the now,_ instead of who you were in _the back then,_ without me. During our time in the Jewel, we'd been suspended in the cosmos, held together by a thread that had stretched past destiny.

Until then, I'd always thought my thread had been connected to InuYasha; perhaps at one point, it had been.

But I'd been tangled in yours for two lives and every eternity to come -

And when I realized this, I'd severed the string between myself and a dog-eared boy whom I'll adore forevermore, in favor of a spider who'd caught me long ago.

 **\- 9:19 p.m. -**

 _Kagome, where are we?_

 _The Tottori Sand Dunes. A desert._

 _Why?_

 _I dunno. I wanted to see the stars, just as they were, you know? We can't see them like this in Tokyo, not really. It's one of the things I miss about back then._

We're parked by the edge of a sand dune, probably breaking a couple laws while we're at it. But for now it's just you, me, the stars and the sand - all of which are shrouded with shadow, mixing what ought to be brown or blue or you into the same shade of midnight. Out here, in the dark, we are all equals.

You shake the lint off a few blankets and spread them in the rear of the truck, lifting me up and into you once you're finished. We lay back and listen to the chittering of faraway insects, closing our eyes if the wind blows to block the occasional sprinkling of sand tossed in the air.

My fingers find your inky tresses, so soft and smooth, playing with them idly. Turning to the side, you drag me to your chest, and gently kiss my forehead.

 _I don't miss anything from back then._

 _Not…not even Kikyou?_

 _Sometimes. Not often._

 _Oh._

 _I know you miss InuYasha, even after three years. And I know you miss the others, too. The monk, and the slayer girl. The kitsune._

 _I'm sorry._

 _So am I._

But your tone bears no resentment. Shivering slightly, I snuggle closer, breathing in the scent of laundry detergent and hydrocortisone cream (for the hives), and something so utterly _you_ \- violet and violence, muddled by something like _hope._

 _Do you remember?_

 _Remember what?_

 _The time we spent in the Jewel? When you made your wish?_

 _Yes._

 _You knew I'd wished for you to be with me, in the Jewel, forever. Even though it wasn't what I'd wanted._

 _Yes._

 _When you wished for the Jewel to disappear, you didn't ask for me to be spared._

 _Not necessarily. But I know why you were, just like I know why you're here with me, now. Just like I know why we're together, despite everything that's happened. Like I know why it doesn't matter how much I miss InuYasha, because I'll always pick you._

 _And why is that?_

I lift my chin to meet your eyes. They sparkle garnet, even in the gloom.

 _Because you were born to be with me, and I was born to be with you, forever. That's the part InuYasha missed - I might have been born for him, but I will always be with you. It's my destiny. I was supposed to stay in the Jewel with you, just like I'd always been, when my name was Kikyou and your name was Onigumo, or even the ones before them. We're timeless._

Although you're silent, your expression is intense, heavy, consuming me whole. Slowly, you shift, propping your elbows on either side of my head, hair becoming a black curtain which separates me from the rest of the world. It blends beautifully with the ceiling of night and stars above us.

 _You complete me._

My voice is barely more than a whisper. I can feel you against my hips, and you're warm, warmer than I'd ever expected. It always surprises me - you'd been so cold, in both body and heart and soul, for years. Never had I imagined you'd be this warm.

If I'd told fifteen year-old me how warm you could be, would I believe it?

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf - or a dog - howls, once.

We pay little attention to the sound, too busy tangling ourselves together all over again.

 **\- 1:00 am -**

 _I love you._

 _What?_

 _I love you._

 _I know._

 _Sometimes it needs to be said._

 _Well, I love you, too._

 _I know._

 _I'll love you for infinity._

 _I know. I will, too._

 _I'm glad._

 _Me, too._

.

.

.

 **I'm sorry but I fell in love tonight;**

 **I didn't mean to fall in love tonight.**

 **You're looking like you fell in love tonight.**

 **Could we pretend that we're in love?**


	3. KaguKik - the hours following eve

**Title:** the hours following eve

 **Warnings:** sexual situations

 **Pairing:** KaguKik

 **a/n:** Requested by **yellowis4happy**.

* * *

 **"** **Better to reign in hell than serve in Heaven."**

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

In hour one, when she was freshly birthed, a new-born in the form of a young woman from the flesh of a man ( _…'God made woman from the bone which He had taken from the man'_ , only God is Adam and Adam is not a lover nor a father but a master, and He knows all), all she knows is Kikyou - Kikyou, beautiful and seventeen; Kikyou, a priestess and therefore, untouchable; Kikyou, touching her _(but somehow not her)_ through gauze and memories so faded they blur back and forth in her child's brain, watered-down over generations of a thousand tragedies and other wants, none of which made much sense at all.

.

.

.

In hour two, she learns her name is Kagura, and that her creator's name is Naraku.

Both know she is aware of a third name, imprinted and embedded so deeply in her psyche that she, Kagura, would surely fall apart without it.

.

.

.

In hour three, Kagura learns - _over_ and _over_ and _over_ again - that she is never to say Kikyou aloud.

.

.

.

In hour forty-five, Kagura has become quite knowledgeable and world-wise, and she relishes in her intelligence.

Armed with a fan of daggers (for strength) and beauty (for danger), Kagura does what she's told and hates whomever she pleases, thinking the worst of her problems is a white-haired dog, and ignores the shadowed memories of a woman looking into a glassy gaze of a man she may-have-once-been.

.

.

.

In hour one-thousand-and-fifty-three, Kagura discovers Kikyou is still alive.

"So," she mutters, mostly to herself, "Naraku's greatest obstacle is still alive."

Considering she's begun to loathe her master, Kagura is vaguely pleased; in spite of this, referring to Kikyou as an obstacle seems strangely accurate, albeit painful to admit out loud.

.

.

.

In hour two-thousand-and-ninety-nine, Kagura begins to spy on the priestess, regardless of Naraku's orders (defiance, after all, was her crowning trait).

Sometimes she spies from her feather, perched in the sky above - _a strange imitation of almost-freedom, still better than nothing at all -_

Kikyou, who's been reborn out of dust and ash, a child of Prometheus instead of a God or Master or Hell, looks up from time to time, staring up at Kagura with an expression that drips of secret knowledge and uncovered secrets, _I know who you are, and I know why you're here._

Although it is she who is higher than the ground, Kagura is always struck down by the priestess' gaze (even if all she does is scoff and skirt away, phantom heart pounding in her chest), as if she is aware that their places ought to be reversed - Kikyou is holy, and Kagura is chained to the Earth by a spider; a creature lower than a worm.

.

.

.

In hour three-thousand-and-thirty-one, Kagura realizes she's in love with Kikyou, and keeps it a secret.

Outwardly she pins for freedom; inwardly she pins for a priestess of clay and bone, like everyone else seems to do. Kagura is but another tick on Kikyou's long list of suitors, compiled over fifty years of almost-lovers and still counting.

She thinks that perhaps there is more of Naraku in her than she would like to admit; for that, she hates him all the more, revolted that her love may only be a reflection of Naraku's flesh, which is a reflection of the man before him.

 _Such desires cannot be stretched out over three bodies without consequence,_ Kagura muses, fingering the front of her kimono, pretending there was a whole, pulsing, _personal_ thing beneath it.

Later, she becomes aware that her heart belongs to Naraku, whose heart belonged to Onigumo, whose heart belonged to Kikyou; realizes that Kikyou has been the true keeper of her freedom long before Kagura knew what freedom was to begin with.

Somehow, the idea that her heart lies safe within those white, skeletal fingers - _a facsimile of a ribcage_ \- does not bother her as much as Kagura thinks it ought to.

.

.

.

In hour six-thousand-and-sixty-five, Kikyou finds Kagura by a river she does not dare touch.

"Why is that?" Kikyou wonders aloud, voice is cool and flat; body disinterested in every place but the eyes, which smoulder with a hunger similar to Naraku's - embers between coals instead of molten rock, but no less intense.

"I am a liar," Kagura replies plainly, manicured fingers twisting the jade beads of a single earing, grating her nerves beneath the tiny stones. "And Naraku does not trust clean things. He says nothing is truly pure, and to try and erase oneself of impurities is lying in it of itself."

The priestess chuckles darkly, mirthlessly. "And what does Naraku know of pure things?"

Kagura wants to scream _because his love for you is nothing but filthy, unholy lust, and his fingers tap against you in my dreams, slick and wanting, so greedy and grimy and grasping, and I know that you are not him and I am not him and yet I am, so I know what being tarnished feels like, rusty rough sticky sinful, and I know you are none of those things, and isn't it ironic how faultless things are always more beautiful to the soiled ones?_

"Because I want a pure thing," she answers. "And I am of him."

The sky is streaked with pink and orange of a summer sunset, illuminating the contours of Kikyou's smooth features like the glow of a flame, burning beside a wounded bandit. Mentally, Kagura shakes away the memories that are not hers - however, considering the _Kikyou-then_ was just as alluring as the _Kikyou-now,_ Kagura does not blame the bandit for selling his soul; feels a semblance of something like empathy.

The priestess glides forward, cloud and clarity in the skin of a woman born-and-reborn three times over. Kagura can barely breathe, for the air is too clear around her, too clean, and if she inhales too much of her then Naraku will know.

"Perhaps freedom is pure," Kikyou smirks, not unkindly, pale hands reaching for the front of Kagura's kimono, sliding the front open as she speaks, "But that is not what you speak of."

From somewhere above, a crow caws a warning Kagura cannot discern before taking off in a flurry of oily feathers and leaves; they swirl straight to the ground, patternless and pathetic, lacking a breeze to carry them away.

"How do you know that?" Kagura gasps, intending to appear threatening, failing miserably when Kikyou's coldness creeps down, down, _down -_

Warmer than the rest of her, Kikyou's mouth drags along Kagura's own, sucking and biting, smearing scarlet lip stain over teeth and tongue; when she pulls away, Kikyou's lips are red like lust, and she licks them tauntingly, teasing.

"Because I know what Naraku wants," she murmurs, "And this is not it."

With blood in her bones and dirt pressed against the scar on her back, Kagura spends hour six-thousand-and-sixty-six in sweet, sinful bliss, and bids her God _(whoever He, She, It, is)_ to watch.


	4. Kikyou - Games Like Hiding

When Kikyou is five, her mother tells her to go hide, _quickly,_ with a smile on her face and laughter between her teeth. Ever obedient, Kikyou complies, scampering behind the chicken coop, waiting for whatever was to come next.

A few minutes later, her mother finds her, and scoops Kikyou out of the dirty straw, _I got you I got you I got you_ , and Kikyou shrieks in delight.

"The game is called hide-and-seek," says her mother, kissing Kikyou's sweaty brow. "One person counts to ten with their eyes closed, and another goes to hide. Then, the first person looks for the second. The goal for the second person is not being found."

Later, Kikyou thinks she might have won the game if her mother had explained the rules beforehand, rather than when it was over and done with.

Kaede is born in the winter when Kikyou is eight, and their father is disappointed.

"Another girl," he sighs, rocking the bundled newborn in his big, strong, _male_ arms. "My poor children. The world is so cruel, and it is even crueler to women."

Kikyou's father pats her on the head with something like affection; then stands to hand baby Kaede off to her mother, who is haggard and weary from childbirth.

"There are rumors of bandits in the north," her father mutters darkly, looking out the window. Clouds of purple and onyx choke the once-calm sky – soon, there will be another wave of snow. "Some young ones with them, too. Damn bastards train 'em young. Burning whole towns to the ground."

"What should we do?" rasps her mother, clutching Kaede to her chest, knuckles thin and white against the threadbare blanket the babe is wrapped in.

 _Hide,_ Kikyou thinks immediately, though she dares not suggest it aloud. Her father is a tall, proud man, and she is old enough to have learned a few of _the things that one should never say;_ so she remains silent, like she always does, and wonders how different her life might have been if she'd been born a boy.

When Kikyou is eight, her mother tells her to go hide, _quickly_ – except this time, there is no smiles or laughter, and there is a crying baby that is shoved into her trembling hands before she scrambles behind a cabinet in the next room, before she hears the horrible sound of flesh meeting blade – and Kikyou forgets the most important rule of hide and seek.

" _Mommy!_ "

 _(Don't let yourself be found.)_

There are too many voices in the house, the air is starting to burn, Kaede won't stop crying, _where's Daddy what happened to Daddy I want Mommy I want –_

"Found you!"

A tall, ugly man leers down at Kikyou, wagging a curved blade in her direction, flicking her mother's blood all over the furniture.

"Heard there was a couple kids here. Can't leave any behind. Onigumo!"

Through the haze of tears and heartbreak and flecks of ash in the air, Kikyou sees a boy step forward, expression blank. The bigger man points in their direction, turning to kick a vase to the side. "Kill them, would'ya?"

(Now it's Kikyou's turn to cry, and she holds onto her sister like doing so might save the both of them.)

The boy nods grimly, fumbling with matches. The older man punches through a paper screen, laughing at the destruction, and somehow Kikyou is aware that _they are not the only ones_ and that _her entire village was probably burned and dead and never-to-be-found_ , just like her father, just like her mother –

"No!"

Kikyou raises her hand, desperate to protect her baby sister, to shield all she had left, to hide her from these men and keep her _safe and sound safe and sound, let's play a game, okay, baby? Let's play a game –_

The boy yelps, dropping the matches, and everything is white and dark and Kikyou is gone.

When Kikyou is five, she does not know she will be a priestess, does not know her parents will die at the hands of bandits, and does not know she will be a sister.

Kikyou only knows of life and safety and love, and learns new things every day; only wishes for adventure and days to be filled with fun, and plays hide-and-seek with a mother who always manages to find her, regardless of how well she thinks she's hidden.


End file.
